


Traitor

by ardett



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Death, Gen, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traitor or ally, ally or traitor. Russian or Japanese, Japanese or Russian. All Lev knows is that Kuroo is his enemy, a person isn't always a person, no matter how they scream, and we all have to betray someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traitor

**Author's Note:**

> There are graphic descriptions of violence and torture, so please be warned. There is also major character death.
> 
> This is based off a kurolev picture I saw and now cannot seem to find for the life of me. It was a picture that looked as if it was taken through a camera, with Lev in military uniform, holding Kuroo, who had duct tape over his mouth. One of the scenes was taken directly from that picture, so if anyone can find a link to the artist or the picture, please, please, please send it to me! Many thanks!
> 
> Edit: [this is the pic](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/79/bb/fa/79bbfadde8cb040e2b633f4afcf27110.jpg), though I still haven't found the proper credit for the artist

There's blood in Lev’s mouth. It sits there, warm and tepid on his tongue but he can't swallow it because it's not his. It's theirs. And he's running from their dead bodies, shot full of holes (he shot them full of holes) because there’s one more left. He ignores the buzz in his ears as his steps eat the ground between him and the last one. The black figure disappears, reappears, behind trees but every time, Lev sees the whites of his eyes, looking wildly back at him. The firearm is still gunpowder warm in his hands and he takes aim, vision sharpening, targeting. The sound is loud, the recoil violent enough to throw him off a step but it doesn’t matter because ahead of him, the last one screams and falls. Lev tucks the gun back into it’s place, hands sore from the vibrations of bullet one after another, though the cold soothes the ache.

The last one is younger than Lev had thought he would be, barely a college boy. It’s unsurprising though. After an epidemic wiped out most of Japan, the only ones who got away were the young ones. It’s stupid, Lev thinks, to revolt against someone so much stronger than you. They don’t stand a chance, not when Russians as young as Lev are equipped with automatic weapons. The boy’s hair is an unruly mess, black roots marking him as Japanese, parts stuck up and matted with sweat. He’s long and lean, same dirty, beat up skin as all his dead kin. Lev imagines he would have lasted a while in a labor camp. Shame he had to join the revolt.

The last one growls at him, feral as a cat, hands covered in grime as they slide in the dirt. He snarls in broken, unintelligible Japanese, syllables cursed between heaved breaths. Even to Lev’s Russian mind, it sounds vicious.

Lev crouches down to the last one’s level, tilting his head, eyes a little wider so there’s whites around his pupils. “Come on now. Don’t you know it’s forbidden to speak like that?” He digs his thumb into the bullet hole in the last one’s leg.

The boy screams like the sound is tearing out his throat as he desperately thrashes away. There’s blood coating Lev’s finger when he pulls back, making his skin warm. Again, Japanese leaks from the last one’s mouth, dangerous and low and deadly. He grows silent as Lev threads a hand through his black hair, gently, before clenching his fist and forcing the last one to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m supposed to bring one of you back. But between you and me,” He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You might wish you were dead.”

He sees the boy’s eyes widen in terror, feels him shake under his fingertips, and he smiles.

 

“Time to go.” Lev commands as he hauls the last one to his feet. Immediately, the boy’s legs give out and he hears a gasp catch in a raw throat. The last one grits his teeth, jaw clenching, as he stands again. His limp grows more pronounced with every step and soon Lev has to keep a hand solidly on the boy’s hipbone to push him along. He’s tall for a Japanese, lean and bony from starvation.

The last one is quiet, save for labored breaths, until they reach the clearing where all the other bodies still lay. Black forms strewn from tree to tree, bloody and broken. Lev loses his own momentum as the last one stills in front of the first corpse, whispering in fervent Japanese noiselessly so that Lev can’t tell whether it’s words or names he says.

“Hey!” The last one flinches, eyes still stuck on the fallen. “No Japanese!” The last one slowly looks at him. There’s tears running down his face, caught in the grime there. It streaks his face like war paint. The words he speaks stay incomprehensible. “If you’re not going to do what you’re told,” Lev lets his grip on the last one’s hip relax, assured of the boy’s weakness. “Things are going to get a lot harder for you.” The last one whimpers as Lev as covers his mouth with a strip of duct tape, the adhesive pulling on skin. 

He follows as Lev tugs him through the carnage. The aftermath is far different than the battle. Now Lev sees each body, some short, some tall, skin different shades of sun browned and bloody red, shades of hair ranging black to brunette. All Japanese, so it doesn’t matter that they’re dead; None of them were Russian.

He grimaces as he steps over another one, silver hair soaking up blood. His eyes are open, big brown irises staring back at Lev.

Useless death. He doesn’t understand why there’s a revolt in the first place. Life as a Russian colony isn’t as a bad as war and yet here they are, starting a war against a world power like Russia with an army of near weaponless teenagers. It’s not as if the labor camp workers aren’t fed, clothed and sheltered. Some even make it to management positions, if they work hard enough. It’s a decent life for a lower race.

Lev glances back at the silver boy. His eyes are closed.

The last one stumbles on a root as Lev pauses. Lev digs his nails into the boy’s side, facing forward and continuing on.

 

It’s a long journey back to the compound, made longer by the extra weight Lev now has to carry. The last one sags in his arms like a lover going to bed. They’d already stopped once for Lev to tie a rag around the last one’s leg so he didn’t bleed to death before Lev could deliver him to command. It’s still very slow going. Nervously peering at the sky, Lev wonders if they’re going to make it ahead of nightfall. He doesn’t look forward to spending a night in the Russian cold, especially with a hostage. It would probably mean no sleep for him, lest he wants to wake up empty handed and alone, or with his own gun pointed at his face.

As they crest a hill, the compound finally comes into view. Lev breathes a sigh of relief while the last one tenses like he’s about to run. Lev tightens his hold on the last one’s hipbone in warning until it pushes into his palm. More forcefully than before, Lev directs them toward the building.

It’s imposing, more so as they approach and it grows larger and larger before them. The stone is dark and frozen, dusted by snow that catches in the divots of rock. The windows have iron crosses over them, with the luxury of glass to seal the frail warmth in the walls. It seems snug to Lev but he’s seen a few of their Japanese prisoners freeze to death in their cells, expending the last energy of their life shivering. He hopes the last one lasts a little longer than that, at least to make up for the effort of dragging him across forest wasteland.

Russian drifts from behind the iron door, echoing off the metal in the strange way that Lev is familiar with. In the flickering electric light, Lev can see the last one with a clarity he had missed. His face is bruised, darkened almost to black on the heights of his cheekbones. There’s a few flecks of blood splattered up his jawline, more of it staining his clothes. Abrasions and scratches litter his visible skin, from collarbones to forehead. Tears, from pain or hopelessness, catch in the edges of his eyes, which shine golden and afraid in the fluorescence. 

The last one yelps, a sound muffled by the tape, as Lev grips the back of his hair, tilting his face up as he bangs on the door.

“Open up! It’s Lev!” He shouts. There’s an answering clamor and the whir of the overhead camera focusing on them. Lev smiles up the lens, yanking the last one closer. “I’ve got a new revolt kid!”

The door groans open, metal screeching in protest, all but drowned out by the other soldiers chorusing their approval. Lev shoves the last one through the door, watching him stumble and fall. He’s only on the ground for a second before a thousand hands drag him back up by wrists, by hair. Lev can’t hear his sobs when gloved fingers press deep into his bullet wound, not in the jeering noise, but he knows it’s there.

“What’s with the duct tape?” A comrade grins at him, watching as the last one’s wrists are strung behind his back, so tight that his shoulder joints seem to strain.

“He doesn’t seem to like the language of his country.” Lev replys lazily. “Or understand that no one’s allowed to speak Japanese anymore. I figured it was easier than listening to him babble all the way here.”

“Oh man, another one? The general’s gonna throw a fit.”

“Well, I think he can understand us. He responds pretty well to threats, at least. So he should be able to answer the general’s questions.”

“I guess,” Lev glances over as the soldier groans under his breath. “But this kind is always the hardest to break.”

 

When Lev sees the last one again, he's looks far worse for the wear. It's been a few hours since Lev left to go through security checks, change out of field clothes and file a report to the general. Interrogation hasn’t begun yet but a few of the other soldiers have already had some fun with the boy. Lev stands outside the bars of the last one’s cell.

The last one is curled up in the corner of the room, back against the shafts of the empty adjacent cell. His clothes are torn and the rag Lev had tied around his leg is soaked with blood. There’s stains of it, red and black, over the stony ground. As Lev watches, the last one warily raises his head, eyes red and hateful (and underneath that, scared). The tape still covers his mouth, keeping any words trapped in his lungs.

Footsteps echo down the hall, bouncing off metal and stone. Lev looks up as someone claps his shoulder, a heavy hand pressing into his flesh.

The general smiles down at him, something sharp and predatory. “Good work, soldier. I heard you were the one to bring it in. Quite a cold night to be on duty too. No injuries sustained?”

“No, sir.”

“I’d think not. After all, such a ragtag army poses no threat to a country like our glorious nation, isn’t that right, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.” The last one’s eyes dart between the two of them, flickering flecks of gold. Lev watches as he compresses further into the corner as the general turn his gaze to the cell.

“Yes, and I thought I might mention, I’ve taken you off active duty for a few weeks. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been doing good work recently and I reward good work. You’ll just be on guard duty, help supervise the prisoner, that sort of thing. Consider it a break.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“If only the rest of my army were as successful as you, soldier. It’s not your fault the hostages you bring in keep dying, I suppose.”

Lev doesn’t reply to that and the general merely pats him on the back again and leaves. The last one watches the general go, before glaring at Lev. The gold in his eyes is full of accusation. Lev doesn’t remember the names of the others he’s brought in, the Japanese sounding too strange in his head to stick there. But he wonders if the last one does.

 

Lev finds himself wandering somewhat aimlessly without an assigned mission, until another comrade mentions to him that they’re starting interrogation soon on the new prisoner. He’s seen a few session, they all have, sometimes when they’re drunk and looking for something to pass the time. This time though, he’s alone, with no one at his back to whisper snide comments to. 

They’re looking for valuable information now. Not the usual, ‘How many of you are there? What’s your next point of attack? What weapons do you have?’ They’re searching for locations, seeking to cripple the revolt. If they find the revolt’s base, they can slaughter the last of them.

Before the session even begins, Lev knows it will be brutal. Torture is usually the only way to get teenagers to talk. They don’t believe threats (but they should). He can’t bring himself not to go, though. There’s a sick sense of curiosity that fuels him, especially since he brought the prisoner in. He wants to see it through.

None of the other rooms in this hallway are being used. The last prisoner had died about a week ago. It’s easy to tell which room it is, dimly lit by electric light. He enters as a couple of soldiers are locking shackles around the last one’s wrists. There’s no chains, just the metal encircling his bones, keeping his immobile and upright. The interrogator snaps plastic gloves onto his hands (the last one flinches) and notices Lev.

“You can watch if you want, just don’t get in the way.” Lev nods and leans back against the wall, feeling the stone prickle on his shoulder blades. “And if you’re going to be sick, at least do it outside.” 

The interrogator walks over to the last one, not quite towering over him. He’s small for a Russian but even Lev doesn’t make fun of him, not with the job he has. He snaps his gloves on the skin of his wrist again and Lev sees golden eyes focus on those hands as they come closer. When his voice comes out, it’s lower, rougher, and it carries through the tiny space.

In gruff Russian, he addresses the last one. “I don’t have to hurt you. This can be easy. All you have to do is tell me where the revolt’s base is and we send you off unharmed to a happy little life back in Japan.” He peels up a corner of the tape, ripping off the rest in one motion.

The last one bares his teeth and growls back in Japanese, something cutting and wild in the way he forms the words.

The interrogator laces his finger through the last one’s hair, yanking him up so the bones of his neck pop. “That doesn’t sound like a place to me.” The last one snarls like a cornered animal. The interrogator’s face hardens. He gestures to the two guards still in the room, backing away from the last one.

Lev looks on as the last one takes blow after blow until his ribs start to crack and there’s an unnatural rattling coming from his lungs. His hands go from tight fists to twitching fingers as his body curls farther into himself, like he can protect his heart. All the while, the interrogator’s questions escalate to shouts, demanding a location. And still, all the last one will answer with is savage Japanese. Eventually, he stops answering at all.

Finally, they stop at the interrogator’s wave. Lev can see the last one shudder from across the room, skin torn from where his wrists support his weight. His own legs struggle to hold him. He doesn’t look up when the interrogator walks towards him.

“Tell me where the revolt’s base is.” The interrogator puts a hand on the last one’s side, pushes down on a broken shard of bone. A high keen rises out of the last one’s throat. “Don’t tell me and we go through this all again tomorrow.”

The last one glares back and spits at the ground. His teeth are stained red and orange. Lev leaves as they detach his crumpled body from the wall.

 

“Lev!” Lev turns at the call of his name, seeing the interrogator wave him over to a table. He sits between the other soldiers already seated there, setting his rations down as the interrogator moans, “Why’d you bring me such as hard one, Lev?”

“It’s not my fault! It’s not like I knew what he was gonna be like.”

“It.” The soldier sitting next to him corrects.

“Not like I knew what it was gonna be like.” Lev amends, before continuing, “I mean, it’s not like you haven’t had hard ones before.”

“But all it ever speaks is Japanese! I mean,” The interrogator takes a bite of bread, talking through it. “Does it even speak Russian? How am I supposed to get answers if it can’t even understand me?”

“Stop complaining, Yaku!” Another soldier playfully hits the interrogator’s back. “We all have our jobs, so do yours.”

Yaku groans, hitting his head on the table and shaking the dishes. “Why can’t we just get a Japanese translator? That would make it so much easier. For all we know, it could be giving up secrets that we can’t understand.”

“Hey,” The soldier laughs uneasily as the rest of the table hushes. “You know it’s illegal to speak Japanese. Don’t the general hear you say that, he’ll skin you alive.”

“Right,” The interrogator shakes his head, tan hair falling in his face. “I don’t know what I was thinking, forget I said anything.” 

Slowly, the momentum of the meal picks back up and conversation flows through the room. Lev eats his rations, but doesn’t include himself in the talk.

 

He plans to retire early but when he passes the hallway of cells, his feet slow. They bring him in front of the last one’s cell, bars casting shadows on the figure scrunched in the corner. His back is to Lev and he doesn’t turn around. His bones seem to creak with every inhale. For a long time, Lev just watches him breathe, muscles tensing and untensing. 

Something grows in the bottom of Lev’s stomach, heavy, deadly, and he won’t name it.

 

They take the last one out earlier today, so Lev misses the first hour of the session. When he arrives, they’re breaking his fingers and he’s screaming so loud it hurts Lev’s ears. He’s fixated as they snap one backwards, then another. The cracks ring in the air and the interrogator yells over them but he can hardly be heard over the last one’s rasping breaths and watery lungs.

The heaving breaths turn to pleading to begging through sobs but the words are still in Japanese and they choke the air out of Lev. He turns violently on his heel to leave the room but not before the last one catches his eye. He doesn't even know if he can see him through the tears.

 

When Lev comes back, hours later, the interrogator’s voice is sore and they're setting the last one's fingers back into place. No one is speaking, not interrogator or prisoner, except for the small whimpers coming from the last one as soldiers wrap his bones to splints of wood. Both look tired, drained.

Lev moves to Yaku's side, whose gaze looks hazy as he glances up. “Why are you resetting his fingers?”

The Yaku’s eyes shift back to the last one, brown irises dark. “Once they heal, we might break them again. Besides, fixing them is almost as painful as breaking them, so it still counts as work time.” His voice is hoarse, worn down. 

“But you're not asking him anything.”

“He knows what we want.” The interrogator whispers back to Lev as he walks out the door, “But he’s not going to tell us.”

 

Yaku orders a few days healing for the last one, saying, “One of the best ways to break someone is to lull them into a sense of safety, let them forget what the pain felt like, and then remind them when they least expect it.” He also sticks Lev on prisoner duty. 

“Since you have such an interest in it and don’t have a real job like some of us, I’m sure you can manage.” Aside from everyone else, he pronounces, “I’m serious though, Lev. Make sure he doesn’t die. The general is irritated enough that I’m not working on his case every minute; if he loses that prisoner, we’re all going to be his scapegoats.”

The last one does not grow any warmer to Lev. There’s something boiling, terrible, that lurks in his gaze when he looks at Lev. It’s clear that hours of torture have not erased Lev from the last one’s mind. He remembers the soldier who brought him here.

Lev isn’t afraid. But he feels that heat on him, in stares and growls and bared teeth. The last one is always tense when Lev enters the cell, even as Lev tightens the splints on his fingers and bandages his leg again. His muscles betray him though, for while they show aggression, sometimes they also reveal his fear. He’ll tremble when Lev enters the hallway, as if he thinks that the soldier will bring him back to the interrogator, and when Lev pulls on a finger too hard, he’ll cringe with his whole body.

Late at night, when Lev does his rounds, he’ll hear rushed muttering, strained murmurs. The flashlight will glint off the last one’s nails as he twists in the darkness, names and words swallowed by the stone. He’ll jerk awake with a gasp to Lev crouched down at his level and roar at him, hands braced on the floor, like Lev can understand the curses. Slowly drying tears shine on his face like blood on dying bodies.

It continues like this for three days before Lev arrives with lunch to find the last one’s cell empty.

 

Lev runs into the interrogation chamber, skidding a little on the floor, questions on the edge of his tongue, but they die there as he sees the general standing beside the interrogator, watching as he sharpens a blade. Yaku has the barest trace of panic in his eyes as he glimpses Lev. The general looks up as well and Lev stiffens.

“What are you doing here, soldier? And in such a rush.”

“I-I-” Yaku mouths words to him and Lev follows them swiftly. “The prisoner’s cell was empty. I thought he might have escaped. Sir.” Yaku relaxes with relief, tiny body sagging, as the general nods.

“A responsible course of action. I was just saying much the same thing to someone else.” The general turns back the interrogator. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting too lax, would we?”

“Of course not, sir.” The interrogator replies, focusing on his knife and sterilizing the steel.

Lev finally looks at the last one. He’s bound to a chair in the center of the room, ankles tied to the bottom posts, wrists cuffed behind him. In this lighting, his skin appears sickly pale, irises washed out so that his pupils seem darker, larger. The splints are gone from his hands and his fingers raw red and bruised purple, some crooked where the bone didn’t set properly. His eyes follow the knife as the interrogator walks over.

The interrogator begins with a swallow and a nod from the general. He holds the metal to the last one’s upper arm, striped bare already for this. “Where is the revolt’s base?”

The last one answers, guttural and rebellious, in Japanese. The blade slices into his skin and he reins back a scream, choking on it like his last breath. It’s deep but there’s so much blood welling out that all the wound looks like is dark and red and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. 

And as Lev watches, the interrogator makes another and another and another until the cuts are bleeding into each other, dripping down the last one’s arm like exposed veins, covering the floor in sheen of crimson. The air smells like iron and copper, coating the inside of Lev’s mouth until it’s all he breathes and all he hears is the last one’s silence.

“Tell me where it is!” Yaku grips the last one’s hair but the last one’s eyes are fluttering dangerously, rolling in his skull. Yaku drops his hold in frustration and the last one’s head lolls, golden eyes unfocused and hazy.

Yaku blinks as the general whispers something in his ear. Something Lev can’t identify crosses his face as he shakes his head. The general’s face hardens and he digs his fingers into the interrogator’s shoulder but Yaku hisses back, “I won’t do it. This is enough.” 

The general says something back, harsh and low, and Yaku’s face crumbles as he looks towards the soldiers in the back of the room. With a small voice, he orders, “Cut the prisoner’s shirt off.”

As they do, Lev approaches Yaku, shoes creating ripples in the steadily growing pool of red. “What are you going to do?” His voice sounds heavy in his own ears.

“Lev.” The interrogator throws a quick look back at the general. “You don't have to stay and watch this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I have to do for my country.” He pushes Lev aside, knife glinting like a predator's fang. Like a tear sliding down a cheek. 

He leans down in front of the last one so their eyes are level. “Last chance. Tell me where the base is.” No answer, only a glare that burns like accusation. 

This time though, it isn't directed at the interrogator. The last one's gaze is fixed on the general. And the general smiles back. 

Yaku sucks in a breath and slices into the last one's skin, just under his collarbones where the skin is pulled tight across muscles and bone. The cuts are precise, measured, and they cross over each other. As the interrogator moves in a straight line, left to right, the slashes start to come together and form… Letters.

The last one lets out a pained groan, lips split by his own teeth, but he doesn't know, doesn't see, what Lev is watching unfold, letters creating a word that will scar flesh until it rots. Lev looks away; for the first time, he can't bare the sight. The interrogator finishes with a final mark and draws back. The knife shakes in his hand. The general says one last thing into the last one’s ear, then leaves the room.

Yaku immediately rips his gloves off and starts washing his hands furiously in the small sink connected to the wall. “Lev, get some bandages before he bleeds out.” Lev hesitates, still staring at the last one’s chest. “Lev!” Yaku barks and Lev rushes out of the room.

When he comes back, rolls of cloth spilling out of his hands, the last one is still sitting in the chair. Unrestrained.

“Woah, WOAH, what are you doing?” He glances wildly at the Yaku, then back to the last one, nervous to take his eyes off him. 

“He’s not going anywhere. He’s nearly unconscious.” Yaku grabs a roll from Lev, walking over to the last one and beginning to wrap his arm in white. “Come over here and help me.”

Tentatively, Lev approaches. He starts covering the cuts on his chest, going over one shoulder and under the other until the word begins to disappear. Beneath his fingers, he feels the last one breath. Next to him, Yaku talks softly. 

“I hate when the general takes a personal interest in cases. He always likes sessions bloody. You can usually tell who will talk and who won’t. I don’t like doing this for nothing. I know it has to be done but… We’re all just trying to stay loyal to our country.” His ministrations halt as he looks at Lev’s bandages. Quieter, “He’s not a traitor.” 

Lev doesn’t answer. He just covers the last letter of that word, that treacherous word, that lie.

Traitor.

 

Yaku keeps talking as they bind the last one’s wounds, indistinct nothings that warrant no response. Lev lets him. He listens vaguely, falling into a pattern of winding and unwinding. As he lays down another strip, something makes him pause. The last one’s labored inhales are shorter, faster. Lev can almost feel his heart beating against his ribs through the cloth.

Lev’s gaze flickers to the last one’s face and through black lashes, the eyes that meet his aren’t hazy; they’re murderous. Fluid as a cat, the last one bolts out of his chair, knocking Lev and Yaku aside as he lunges for the table.

The other guards in the room are just raising their guns when the last one grabs the discarded knife. It glitters in the air in front of him and Lev hears clicks echoing behind him.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Lev watches in shock as Yaku leaps in between the guns and the last one. He turns to the last one, expression pleading. “Don’t do this. Where are you going to go?”

The last one falters for a second but Lev sees his legs tense just before he snarls something in Japanese, eyes locking golden on Lev. He charges, Yaku screams, and there’s the crunch of breaking cartilage and splitting skin. 

Lev loses sight of the last one with Yaku’s body blocking his view. But then Yaku drops and all Lev can see is the last one, standing there eyes wide, pupils shaking, knife stained scarlet. 

He drops the blade, backing away until his back hits the wall. He slides down, hands covering those wide, shaking eyes, and Lev’s gaze shifts back to his feet.

Where Yaku lays, hole where his heart should be. Blood is seeping into his hair, turning the pale brown a horrible scarlet like Lev’s hands, coated in red as he desperately tries to stop the bleeding. Yaku’s saying something and Lev has to lean closer to catch the words floating out on a last breath.

“Lev, Lev,” His fingers grip Lev’s arm but the blood makes his skin slick and they keep slipping. Lev grabs his hand, fingers in the empty spots between Yaku’s where they dig into knuckles.  _ “Don’t be a traitor-”  _ He coughs and Lev doesn’t understand what’s happening.  _ “Not to yourself. You know that right? You’re not betraying anyone, Lev, you’re not a traitor, okay? Lev-”  _ His body shudders and his nails scratch Lev’s skin as they slide to the ground. 

“Yaku? Yaku!” His tears begin to dilute Yaku’s blood and he doesn’t know how long he’s there, clutching Yaku’s body and screaming his name, before someone takes him away.

 

For days, Lev is unaware of what happens around him. He’ll wake up and feel blood on his skin but there’s nothing there except for the dried rust under his fingernails that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard he tries. It’s like with his first assignment, when he’d wake up from nightmares of broken teenage bodies and lightless eyes. His kills haunted him for months.

But he didn’t kill Yaku. The last one did.

Late nights, he’ll go to the last one, seeking redemption, revenge, anything. But when he sees him, curled up in the back of his cell, golden eyes dull, black hair tangled between his fingers, he can’t summon his anger. He’ll sit across from the metal bars and the last one will say something to him. After a while, Lev realizes he's saying the same thing over and over.

Lev thinks it's, “ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

 

Lev doesn’t get to see Yaku’s funeral. They send his body back to his family on the strip of land bordering the Sea of Japan. Lev doesn’t even know if his body makes it there, through all the war zones in between.

The general does let him dedicate a small plot of frozen land to Yaku. A few other soldiers join him, lying random trinkets in front of the small stone Lev has carved Yaku’s name into. They shine in the dying evening light, the scrounges of soldiers who have almost nothing. Lev wishes he had flowers but nothing grows in this cold.

 

Solace is few and far between but Lev finds some in the last one’s slow healing. With no interrogator, he’s left alone. Lev is the one who brings him most of his meals, coming in to check his wounds occasionally for infection and new wrappings. The cuts on his arm needs stitches, evident when they still leak blood after the first few days. In the end, Lev has to do them because the resident medic refuses to go near the last one with any sort of weapon, even a needle. He sews the last one’s skin back together, letting the boy’s Japanese mumbling fade into a faint buzz but he doesn’t speak back.

News spreads quickly in the small compound and now the soldiers view the last one with a wary air. Some says they should kill him but the general makes it clear he won’t allow the death of a potential lead. Lev doesn’t utter a word to either side. He’s becomes ally and traitor to both in his silence.

And that silence follows him everywhere. A few soldiers ask him what happened to Yaku, many more ask him how he can stand the sight of the last one, and he’ll just walk away. He watches the word on the last one’s chest scab over and start to peel at the edges as he hides from his comrades.

He continues like this until a soldier pulls him aside, urgently whispering, “Lev, did you hear about the new interrogator?”

“What?” Lev’s blood runs cold as the winter raging outside.

“They say he’s a real torturer, not like Yaku. He’s a killer. And he brought something special for our prisoner. I just thought you should know. You might want to check on the prisoner, I saw the torturer heading there a second ago.”

Lev yells a thank you over his shoulder as he runs to the cells. He wonders if he’ll be questioned for his eagerness or concern but no one stops him. No one’s really stopped him from doing much of anything since Yaku.

It’s easy to spot the newcomers, covered in dusting of snow that’s already melting in the compound’s heat. There’s clearly a leader, walking in front of the other three with a straight spine and definitive step. Behind him, two soldiers, different uniforms than the one’s Lev is used to, drag someone between them. Lev trails them cautiously, hands twitching at his side uselessly.

They slow in front of the last one’s cell and the last one lifts his head, blinking the daze out of his eyes before he sees the new hostage. They widen, gold irises absorbing all the light in the hallway, and the last one rockets to his feet, banging on the bars of his cell, yelling what sounds like a name.

The new hostage rouses and starts failing and bellowing until their voices fill the space in a desperate cacophony. The hostage is shoved into the cell next to the last one and he stumbles the first few steps before the last one is gripping him through the bars between their cells. The hostage looks unbelieving, clinging to the other like he’s risen from the dead, but the last one’s face is filled with despair even as he whispers the same words over and over again.

The torturer interrupts, finger tapping lazily at the gun strapped to his side. “So are those your names? Kuroo,” He points at the last one. “And Bokuto.” His target slides over to the hostage, who rounds on him and shakes the metal of his cell like that will transfer his aggression. He says something in Japanese and the torturer just laughs. “We’ll have you speaking Russian soon enough. Then you’ll be begging to answer my questions.”

As he leaves, strange soldiers in tow, he catches sight of Lev and gives him a conspirator's wink. It makes something in Lev’s spine stiffen.

 

Lev observes from a distance for only a few minutes before he feels his presence will be missed, especially by the new arrivals. The general introduces him personally, as the soldier who brought in the last one, to the new interrogator. The torturer’s praising gaze still makes Lev shift uncomfortably but he secures the right to watch interrogation sessions, with a few other soldiers backing up his previous credibility with Yaku. It’s past dinner by the time he slips away with excuse of bringing food to the prisoners.

When he arrives, the two are sitting cross-legged, facing each other through the shafts between their cells and conversing quietly. The last one keeps going to touch the other, gripping his knee, fiddling with his fingers, brushing his hair from his face. It feels more anxious than affectionate, like the last one is waiting for the other to be ripped away from him.

From his vantage point, he finally gets a better look at the new hostage. He’s not as thin as the last one, more muscles, less gaunt. He doesn't have the same strain on his face and Lev doesn't think he's been interrogated by anyone yet. The usual injuries of those recently captured, scattered bruises and scratches, are still fresh on his skin. His hair is the strangest shades of black and white, streaks that twist and tangle into each other. His most distinctive feature, however, is his eyes. They're huge and piercing, pure yellow with slitted pupils. 

They find Lev, still waiting at the end of the hallway and despite the metal between them, Lev can't help feeling unnerved. He taps on the last one's leg, motioning to Lev with a suspicious look. The last one throws Lev a cat's grin, a smirk that splits his face. 

It throws Lev off. He can't tell if it's the food he slides through to them that warrants such a response, or if it's to taunt him, or because he…. Yaku… 

Lev is unsure and that only makes him feel more isolated, especially as he watches as an outsider as the two talk amicably. 

Carefully, hesitantly, he mouths the words to himself. In his head, he hears them but forming them strangles his vowels and consonants. The hostage notices, as he continually glances over surreptitiously. Lev’s expression creases in confusion as Japanese is barked at him, uncomprehending.

He meets the hostage’s owl eyes and slowly says, “Bo-ku-to.” Those yellow eyes widen in surprise but Lev has already turned to the last one, opening his mouth, closing it, hesitating, hesitating, before finally saying, “Ku-roo.” The last one, Kuroo, nods, and for the first time, Lev understands what he says.

“ _ Lev. _ ”

 

There’s a gentle smile on Kuroo’s face and Lev almost smiles too before the world comes crashing back down around him. He can’t forget that he was the one to bring Kuroo here because they’re enemies and they always will be enemies until their DNA is stripped from them. A name won’t change that. A smile won’t change that. He is a soldier. And this is Yaku’s killer. (But he’s a killer too, isn’t that why Kuroo is the last one?)

Tomorrow, he’ll watch as Kuroo and Bokuto are interrogated to fuel his country’s thirst for power and he’ll do nothing, just like he always does. It won’t be the same though because Yaku won’t be there and Lev wonders what that will mean. Yaku did what he had to do but at least he had boundaries, at least he felt something. He dealt in pain but not death.

He was better and worse than the rest of them.

Lev abruptly gets up with these thoughts in his mind, guilt roiling in his stomach and something else that makes him glance back one more time. For a second, he sees Yaku and he freezes, staring in horror. Bokuto looks at him questioningly. He blinks and it’s gone and Bokuto is himself again, not Yaku. Lev doesn’t know what it was; it could have been the slant of his nose or the shape of his eyes that triggered it but Lev feels like there’s something vitally important that he’s forgotten.

He leaves in a rush but Yaku’s last words haunt him all through the night.

 

Lev arrives early in the interrogation chamber, while the torturer is still organizing his materials and jotting notes down on a wrinkled scrap. He’s ignored entirely and Lev prefers it this way. Like he’s the ghost in the room, invisible and unseen. Maybe his spirit is displacing Yaku’s. 

He hears the sound of yells getting louder as someone is dragged down the hallway. The harsh characters of Japanese are not in the familiar voice of Kuroo, so the torturer must have chosen Bokuto first. But when soldiers come through the door, they don’t have just one prisoner but two.

They chain them to opposite walls. Kuroo lets them fasten the metal, chafing on his thin wrists, but there’s a deep fear in his eyes, growing darker as he watches Bokuto struggle as soldiers slam him into the stone and lock him there. 

Bokuto sees Lev, eyes wide, yellow, betrayed. But how can he accuse Lev like that, when they’re enemies? Bokuto doesn’t seem to know that though and his eyes call Lev a traitor, cold blooded and cold hearted. He has to look away, gaze falling to the floor, but he feels the intensity still crawling up his spine.

(Why does he feel so guilty?)

The torturer approaches Kuroo first, caressing a knife gently over his skin, from cheek to collarbone to chest. Kuroo flinches every time the blade nicks his skin, scattered pinpricks of scarlet decorating his flesh. The torturer brushes aside the neckline of Kuroo’s shirt, exposing the Russian letters scrawled over his chest.

“I see that they’ve already gotten to you,” He smiles, running knife up Kuroo’s neck, pushing up Kuroo’s chin so he has to meet his gaze. “But I’ve heard you haven’t been talking. So I  guess I’ll have to start with the other one.” 

In mere steps, the torturer is across the room, knife poised over Bokuto. Chains rattle violently as Bokuto lashes out at the man. The restrains hold and words in an incomprehensible language are cursed with vengeance.

The torturer just laughs. “Tell me where your base is. This is your only warning.”

One second passes, two-

The torturer plunges the knife into Bokuto’s leg.

Bokuto gasps, eyes squeezed shut. Lev stands stuck in shock as blood starts to drip from the wound, down the silver metal and onto the floor. He covers his mouth as the torturer twists the knife and some tears slip out of those yellow, yellow eyes.

Kuroo doesn’t look away once and Lev can see a wet shine on his cheeks too.

Into Bokuto’s ear, the torturer whispers, “Tell me where it is.” Bokuto shakes his head.

The torturer walks over to grab something from the table. His shoes leave red half moons on the ground where the toes stepped in blood. The device sparks as he nears Bokuto and Lev realizes what it is right before the torturer holds it the metal of the knife.

A terrible scream rips through the air, but worse is the sound of electricity crackling through Bokuto’s blood and bones, loud as thunder, sharp as a thousand needles, making Lev’s ears feel like they’re bleeding. Bokuto spasms, eyes wide and slitted, as the electricity grabs his muscles and taunts him with them.

Finally, finally, the sound softens to a dull buzz, darts of lightning just missing the metal in Bokuto’s leg as the torturer draws back.

“Where is the base?” The torturer’s expression turns to an ugly sneer as Bokuto says something in Japanese, choking on a feeble strain of laughter. He places the device back next to Bokuto’s leg.

When he stops this time, Bokuto’s chest is heaving, breaths tearing apart lungs. Again, the torturer asks and again, Bokuto doesn’t give him an answer. At first, there a tone of defiance to Bokuto, resolve hidden under his skin, but as his voice starts to crack, he ceases to answer at all. His screams are held behind a locked jaw and gritted teeth. His fingers have started to twitch unnaturally, even during reprieve from the electrocution.

The torturer presses the instrument over Bokuto’s heart.

“Tell me.”

Bokuto’s whole body shakes but he stays silent, shaking and silent.

There’s the terrible crackling of lightning spiking through him and Bokuto’s mouth is open in a silent scream that Lev can’t hear. All he can see are the white of Bokuto’s eyes, shot with red.

The torturer pulls away and Bokuto slumps towards the ground, held up only by the corroded metal slicing into his wrists. Dimly, Lev hears Kuroo shriek Bokuto’s name but the torturer is already moving toward Bokuto again.

The terror in Bokuto’s face in unfathomable and he’s saying something, sobbing something, with tears covering his face as he frantically tries to get away. Towards the very end, twisted by the quaking in Bokuto’s voice, Lev hears something he recognizes. It’s the same thing he’s heard right before he’s killed someone. 

Begging, pleading. And he had ignored it.

“Stop! Please, stop!” 

The torturer whips towards Kuroo, hand still too close to Bokuto. And Lev’s mind seems to skip on this moment, like a disc stuck on repeat, on Kuroo’s words that he screamed in desperation, because, because-

He spoke those words in Russian.

Despair marrs Kuroo’s face as he pleads to the torturer, “Please, he can’t understand you. Please. Please…” His words crack and the torturer moves, backing away from Bokuto and coming instead for Kuroo.

The device is carelessly thrown to the table as the torturer reaches Kuroo. He threads his fingers through Kuroo’s mess of black hair, forcing his head up.

“He can’t understand me…” The torturer drags out the end of the phrase and Lev knows that he doesn’t believe Kuroo. Kuroo must see it too because he opens his mouth as if to speak before the torturer continues, “But you can.” Whatever Kuroo was going to say dies on his lips as the torturer’s voice turns sickly sweet. “So you can tell me where the base is.”

The only way Lev can describe Kuroo’s face is broken. Broken, broken, broken. “I can’t.”

The torturer slams Kuroo’s head back into the stone wall, growling dangerously, “I don’t believe you.” For an infinite moment, the torturer just stares at Kuroo, as if considering. “Well, we’ve already seen that pain doesn’t work for you, so I guess we could always go back to your friend over there.”

“No, please, please-” Kuroo chokes, as the torturer’s grip tightens in his hair.

“I’ll give you a night or two to think it over. And if you haven’t found my answer by then,” Lev catches the whisper of a hiss from where he stands. “I’ll kill him.”

 

Lev sits before Yaku’s grave. He didn’t watch the soldiers bring the destroyed back to their cells. So here he sits, in front of a stone that means nothing, because he’s a coward and all he has is his own messy handwriting of Yaku’s name.

The horror of what he’s done consumes his waking thoughts. Or what he hasn’t done. (Nothing.)

How can he just stand by and watch when lives are ending and people are breaking? How did he do it before? How did he justify this?

From before he even joined the war, when Japan had just been invaded to use as a Russian colony, a deep sense of nationalism had been ingrained in him. Every teacher, every adult, every child, knew that Russians were superior and the epidemic that swept the island was another way of God showing it. And all children ever heard was how brave and noble it was to serve, how quickly the revolts would be suppressed because they were weak and we were strong. That's why they had been defeated. That's why they died. That's why they were then enslaved.

By the time Lev realized it was war, nothing less, something more, it was already too late. He had already killed and he was conditioned to follow orders, whatever they may be. He wanted to follow them. Pride begged him too.  All around him, people rejoiced and cheered at Russian victories and that thrill swallowed him. 

How could he think differently when everything he knew told him what was right? Told him in the language of his mother, his father, his sisters? How could he know anything different when he couldn’t even understand the pleas of the people he killed? 

When it’s just noise, it’s so much easier to pull the trigger.

But Kuroo is human, just like any Russian, and how can Lev only realize that now that he understands him? Before he spoke Russian, blood still ran through his body, before he spoke Russian, he still screamed in pain. Nothing has changed except the words on his tongue. So why has Lev?

Yaku’s voice seems to carry on the wind and Lev whips around, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He cringes as it howls in his ear, Yaku’s voice desperate and dying, but he can’t understand the words, why can’t he understand?

The cold stings in his eyes and they water, tears running down his face as he wildly looks around the clearing. Lev clings to his last memory of Yaku but he can’t remember what he said and a freezing terror seizes Lev’s body. The howls escalate to screams and Lev still can’t see anything but he runs anyway until he’s behind the compound walls.

 

When he brings the prisoners dinner, Kuroo leaps to his feet, hands wrapped around the bars of his cell.

“Lev.” The look in Kuroo’s eyes winds around Lev’s chest, chokes him, even as Lev shakes his head. “Lev, you have to get Bokuto out of here.” He shakes his head again, sliding the food under the doors. Kuroo slams the bars and Lev jumps back. “Lev, look at me!”

He does and he can’t look away, locked on those golden eyes that glitter and glint and shriek. “I know you owe me nothing. I killed your friend and I am so sorry but that wasn’t Bokuto. He hasn’t done anything,” Kuroo hisses. “You have to get him out of here, please. I know you can. He’s not what you’re looking for. He can’t even understand the questions you ask him. But they’ll kill him. Please, Lev. There doesn’t have to be any more innocent deaths. Please.”

“I-” Lev’s eyes flicker to Bokuto, watching the exchange from the back of his cell, bloody leg sprawled out in front of him. “I can’t.”

“You can. You can save him. It doesn’t have to be this way. You can change this.”

“No, I-” Lev’s own breath strangles him, but he- “I can’t betray my people.”

“Your people?” Kuroo’s voice echos low against the stone. Lev shakes his head again, but this time to shake a nagging feeling that’s overshadowed by the burn in Kuroo’s eyes and white of his bared fangs. _ “My country is plagued by a Russian brought disease, my family slaves away on Russian land, my friends are dying everyday in a war that you’ve brought into our homes, a war you’re apart of, and you talk about betraying your people? _ ” Disgust marrs Kuroo’s face. “ _ Yaku was right to call you a traitor. _ ”

Lev leaves without another word.

 

The torturer’s patience wanes overnight and next day’s afternoon, Lev is back in the interrogation chamber.  Both prisoners look tired, circles draw under their eyes in purple and blue, skins pasty and shining. The torturer lifts Kuroo’s chin up to meet his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ve had ample time to consider. Are you ready to tell me where the base is?”

Kuroo’s voice is rough with exhaustion. “I can’t tell you.”

The torturer’s face hardens and his nails imprint on Kuroo’s skin. “Do you think I won’t kill him?”

“Please don’t hurt him.” Kuroo whispers. “He hasn’t done anything.”

Chains rattle as the torturer releases Kuroo harshly. The torturer grabs a knife off the table, walking towards Bokuto. Bokuto’s eyes are going wildly from Kuroo to torturer, but even if he really doesn’t understand Russian, Lev knows that the tears edging Kuroo’s eyes must be answer enough as to what’s happening.

The torturer hold the sharpest part of the blade to Bokuto’s neck. “Tell me where it is.”

“I can’t!” Kuroo insists desperately as red starts to bead on the metal.

Bokuto’s eyes are wide and scared, yellow as the winter sun that Lev hasn’t seen in months. He’s breathing fast, chest convulsing as the knife digs in. Kuroo’s name is on his lips, terrified, and he says something else like a confession that makes Kuroo sob.

“Tell me where the base is!”

But Kuroo is only looking at Bokuto, words rushing out of him. “ _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Bokuto, I can’t tell them. Everyone will die if I do, Kenma and Hinata and Tsukishima and Akaashi. Please, _ ” Kuroo is gasping but all that’s on Bokuto’s face is terror and betrayal.

“TELL ME!” Bokuto’s skin seems like it’s always been scarlet.

“ _ Forgive me, Bokuto, forgive me, I can’t let them die, Bokuto, please _ ,” Kuroo’s chains are ringing as he struggles but Bokuto just trembles, unable to drop Kuroo’s pleading gaze. He shudders as blood pulses from the wound, “ _ Forgive me, forgive me! _ ” The torturer yells for an answer one more time but Kuroo’s screams drown him out. “ _ FORGIVE ME! _ ”

Bokuto’s eyes are open, watery and wide, as he nods, just once.

The torturer slices the blade across Bokuto’s throat and Kuroo’s scream shatters the world.

 

The world seems to hinge on this moment for an eternity, piercing scream and bloody blades and Lev’s hand covering his mouth until the scent of copper and iron filter through his fingers and down his throat. Kuroo slumps to the floor, strung up by his shackled wrists, stained with his burning tears. And all Lev can think is that he's the last one again.

 

Lev hasn't spoken since Bokuto’s death. Every time he tries, he tastes red and feels dead yellow eyes staring bullet holes into his vocal cords. Blood gurgles up in his throat and the words drown there until he reaches the Kuroo’s cell and they burble over in an ugly torrent.

“ _ How can he forgive you? _ ”

Kuroo looks up from his arms, curled into the corner. He unravels with slow grace and his eyes shine murderously golden. “ _ How can he forgive me? I did what I had to do to save our friends’ lives. Everyone else, everyone he loved, would have died. Bokuto knew that. He would never have forgiven me if I let that happen.”  _ His bruised body trembles with anger. “ _ But you know nothing of loyalty.” _

_ “I am not a traitor.” _

Kuroo face twists into a snarl, bared with hatred.  _ “Aren’t you? Check your tongue, traitor.” _

Lev stares at the Kuroo, head tilting almost imperceptibly. Then his eyes widen, increment by increment, panic stricken, as he covers his mouth. His fingers turn white with the pressure but he can’t take back what he said, how he said it. Kuroo smirks, tired and weary and faded gloating.

_ “You speak the language of your people. And you have betrayed them.” _

Lev wants to say the Japanese tastes foul on his tongue but he afraid to speak again, lest the forbidden slip out.  The language feels like home, like safety and spring and quiet thoughts. He had almost forgotten, tucked it away in the part of his mind where all suppressed thoughts lurk. But he never truly did forget the language of his family.

He just shakes his head at Kuroo because he’s wrong. It’s not the language of his people. His blood may be the warzone but his family picked the winning side when they lied about their ethnicity. His blood runs Russian. It can’t be any other way.

The sneer on Kuroo’s face seems to ache.  _ “All this time, you’ve been able to understand us. How many people have you heard beg for their lives? Me, Bokuto, what others? And you’ve just stayed there, watching from your little corner, pretending you’re as pure blooded as the rest of them and getting away with it. Don’t worry though, I’m sure you’re just as cold blooded as the next.” _

_ “I-” _ Lev bites back the Japanese that slips out, the Russian forming slow and blocky as he concentrates on what should be his first nature. “I can’t understand you.”

“ _ Liar. _ ” Kuroo scoffs harshly, turning back around and sitting down hard. He buries his head in his arms and doesn’t look up again.

 

Lev remembers what Yaku had said now, as he hides in an unoccupied room as night falls. How had he forgotten Yaku’s last words, on straining, dying breath? Just like he had forgotten his first language, the one he said ‘ _ I love you’ _ to his parents in, he supposes. How can a language, just a collection of different sounds and syllables, create such a divide in the world? How can he be loyal when he speaks one, traitor when he speaks the next? He had ignored a whole side of himself for years but Kuroo had dredged that all up and now, he can’t just see the revolt like all his comrades. Suddenly, they’re human, with thoughts and minds and love and pain, just like all the soldiers on his own side, and how can he kill them when he understands them?

He knows they’ve always been human. (But if the world spoke every language, if the world could speak to everyone in the language of their family, their home, would the world realize that too?)

Lev shuts his eyes, inhaling while he runs his hands over his face. He curses under his breath but it comes out in Japanese and he curses even louder in vehement Russian. Yaku knew, somehow, somehow, and Lev can hear what he said, in the muffled Japanese that those dying words were in.

_ ‘You’re not betraying anyone, Lev, you’re not a traitor.’ _

He stares into the darkness until his eyes sting but he won’t betray anyone, he won’t be a traitor. He knows what he has to do.

 

_ “Kuroo. Kuroo, you have to get up!” _ Lev hisses into the moonlit cell. Kuroo stirs and two golden eyes shine in the dark. He makes a noise like a weak growl and turns away.

Lev’s hands shake and the key clangs against the lock. Kuroo whips around but Lev focuses on his goal even as Kuroo walks over, step after feeble step.

_ “Lev.” _ He’s standing right in front of the door now, hands on the bars right above the lock. Lev’s name is only a breath on his lips. Something clicks and Kuroo inhales sharply. Lev backs away and Kuroo is looking at him but then his hands tighten on the metal and the door swings open. Like nothing. Like freedom.

Kuroo steps over the threshold, glancing back up at Lev with horrid disbelief, whole body trembling. 

“ _ Lev.” _ He says again but his voice cracks as tears track down his face.

_ “We have to go.” _ Lev grabs Kuroo’s hand, tugging him down the hallway, and it takes a few stumbling steps, but Kuroo follows.

The corridors wind before them but Lev has spent a lifetime here. It’s simply that every way in is now a way out. Clanking pipes mask their footsteps, the near dark hiding their figures. The, finally, a door as cold as the outside air.

Lev pushes it open, buffering against the wind that sends flurries circling around their feet. When he lets it go, it slams behind them with unheard finality. 

In front of Kuroo’s feet, covered with a light layer of snow, is Yaku’s grave. Lev almost wants to take it but he knows there’s nothing to take except a stone he picked out of the wilderness. Nothing of Yaku.

Still, he puts a hand on the stone, palm numbing as he wishes for… The ability to say goodbye. To Yaku. To everything he’s known.

Kuroo leans down next to him and traces something in the dusting of white, lines that reveal the stone beneath. 

_ “What does that say?” _ Lev asks, handprint dark to the right of the characters.

_ “Yaku.” _ Kuroo answer simply, standing. He glances anxiously at the door.

“ _ Alright, let’s go.” _ Kuroo nods and they take off into the darkness. On the wind, Lev thinks he can hear Yaku and though he can’t make out the words, the voice sounds proud.

 

For countless days, they trek through wilderness. Kuroo leads and Lev steers them away  from the worst areas. Lev slowly becomes used to Japanese again. There are words he’s forgotten, nuances and intonations, and even though it feels natural on his tongue, part of his mind keeps hollering at him to suppress it for his beaten in self preservation. There’s a line he’s crossing, he’s sure of it. The one that separates him, Russian to Japanese, ally to traitor. He’s stuck in an awful inbetween and divides him from the people he left and the people he’s going towards.

Throughout, him and Kuroo talk liberally, about,  _ ‘How can you forgive me for Bokuto?’ _ and  _ ‘How can you forgive me for Yaku?’ _ Neither of them has a good answer but Lev is finding that it’s becoming harder for him to hate when his world is slowly shifting from myth to reality. He’s starting to understand that he’s been living, all of Russia’s been living, a glorified, unjustified war that has been killing people. Real people, with breath and blood. Maybe Kuroo has always understood that, that on both sides of the war are people. Maybe that’s why he can forgive Lev.

Eventually, of course, it has to come to an end.

 

_ “Lev.” _

Lev glances up from where he’s resting. The tone in Kuroo’s voice makes his heart beat faster and nervous energy shoot through his veins. “ _ What?” _

_ “You know I’m trusting you, right? By bringing you here? This is everything we have. People have died to keep this secret safe. You can not betray us.” _

_ “Kuroo, I wouldn’t-” _

_ “A month ago, you would have said you would never desert the Russian army. So I need you to understand how important this is. You know the kind of sacrifices we take to keep this safe. Lev,”  _ Kuroo grabs Lev’s shoulders, golden eyes burning into his.  _ “I need you to swear to me that you won’t give us up.” _

_ “I swear.” _

_ “Say it in Russian.” _

Lev blinks.  _ “Why?” _

Kuroo’s gaze softens but his jaw tightens and his hands stay strong on Lev’s shoulders. “ _ I still don’t know which means more to you. And which means less.” _ Something in Lev’s chest aches at that.

_ “I-”  _ He clears his throat. “I swear it.”

Kuroo gives one hard nod and releases Lev. He sets off at a quick pace and Lev scrabbles to follow.  _ “Don’t speak until I tell you to, alright? They’ll hear your accent. You won’t be the only half Japanese, so you’ll pass as long as you don’t speak. Just follow me.” _

_ “Okay.” _ Lev whispers back and they walk in silence until the trees begin to thin. 

All of a sudden, there are people everywhere, milling about freely, some with guns, some without, all speaking a language Lev had so long believed forbidden. People begin to notice them, staring at Kuroo like with raw, unbelieving shock. Most seem too disoriented to approach and Kuroo keep walking into the middle of the camp, past cabin and tent, so Lev follows obediently.

Someone runs away and Lev sees them return behind the sprint of another boy, long haired with bleached blond tips.

_ “Kuroo!”  _ The boy cries out, stumbling in his haste. Kuroo’s entire body seems to tense and release simultaneously at the sound.

They’re in each other’s arms in an instance, the boy’s tiny body consumed by Kuroo’s desperate embrace.

_ “I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead, I thought they had killed you and I would never see you again, Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo,”  _ The boy sobs.

“ _ I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m alive, Kenma, I won’t ever put you through that again,”  _ Lev hears Kuroo fervently whisper as he trails in the wake of Kuroo’s mad rush.

 

Something cold presses to the side of Lev’s temple and his heart seizes. Unthinkingly, he turns and finds the barrel of a gun staring a black void back at him. Behind the gun stands a boy with silver hair and eyes as unforgiving as death. His hand doesn’t shake on the gun.

_ “I know you.” _

Adrenaline spikes in Lev’s blood, an overflow of energy that hurts unused because he’s stuck motionless. He can’t speak, Kuroo told him he couldn't, and all he can do is look back, immobile and powerless. He knows this boy as well.

The very first day, the day Kuroo became the last one, this boy had been there. When he dragged Kuroo past the carnage, he had seen silver hair absorbing blood and brown irises that were opened and when Lev had turned around, closed. He had been alive. He is alive.

And he remembers Lev.

Lev’s eyes dart over to Kuroo but the gun presses further into his head and all Lev can hear is the thudding of blood in his ears. His throat closes up with fear but… but....

_ “You should do it. Kill me. I deserve it.” _ And he does. He killed them because he thought it was his right. Then, he brought Kuroo back with him so he could have the chance to kill even more.

_ “It was you. You were the one who killed them, you were the one who captured Kuroo!”  _ Something in the gun clicks, almost drowned out by the boy shouting, but Lev feels it against his skin.  _ “I can hear it in your voice!” _

Lev braces, shuts his eyes, heart burning in his chest.

_ “No! Sugawara, don’t!” _

He’s shoved violently backwards. His eyes fly open but he doesn’t catch himself in time and from the ground, he sees Kuroo standing between him and Sugawara.

_ “I brought him here. Don’t shoot him, Sugawara. He saved me. He saved me.”  _ Kuroo gasps, breaths short.  _ “Don’t kill him.” _

_ “Saved you? He brought you there! I saw him shoot you in the leg and take you away! How many of ours did he kill, Kuroo?” _

_ “He is one of ours now, Sugawara.”  _ Kuroo takes a step closer to Sugawara and Lev watches Sugawara tense.  _ “He’s half Japanese. He speaks our language.” _

_ “Anyone can speak Japanese. And you brought him here! What were you thinking?” _

_ “He knows what this means. He saved my life. He won’t betray us.” _

The two glare at each other but Lev’s gaze stayed fixed on Sugawara’s gun, still dangling from his hand.

_ “Stop, just stop,” _ They’re pushed apart roughly by a boy with dark hair, dark eyes.

Under his breath, Lev hears Kuroo murmur,  _ “Akaashi.” _ His name sounds like hopelessness.

_ “We’re not fighting among ourselves. And we don’t kill people because they don’t share our blood or our language. We’re better than that. We trust Kuroo’s word.” _ He turns his gaze to Kuroo only now and Kuroo seems to curl in on himself. He looks small and desolate.  _ “Bokuto went after you, Kuroo.” _

_ “I know.” _ Kuroo’s voice is almost nonexistent.

_ “Do you know where he is?” _

_ “Akaashi-”  _ Kuroo pleads but the other boy only responds more insistently.

_ “Do you know where he is, Kuroo?” _

_ “He’s dead.” _ And even though he knows, even though he knows, Lev flinches.  _ “They killed him trying to get me to tell the location of our camp.”  _ Tears roll down Kuroo’s face and his voice strains with guilt.  _ “Akaashi, I’m so sorry-” _

_ “You didn’t tell them.” _

_ “No-” _

_ “Then he would have wanted it that way.” _ Akaashi takes a fathomless breath but still, his voice begins to crack.  _ “He died to keep us all safe and we won’t let him down.” _

Even as he wipes tears away, Akaashi’s composure is impenetrable. Lev’s face creases with surprise as Akaashi’s offers a hand to help him off the ground.  _ “What’s your name?” _

_ “Lev.” _

_ “Well, Lev. Welcome to the revolt.” _

 

_ “You know, I used to call you the last one.” _

_ “What? Why?” _

_ “Because I thought you were the last one left. And that you would be that the last one left once you gave up the location. But it turns out, I didn’t even kill everyone that first time, and there’s all these people here. Alive. I was wrong. You were never the last one.” _

_ “There will always be someone to keep living, no matter how many of us die. That’s why we have to do this. To make sure there’s never a last one.” _

_ “Kuroo?” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Do you think I’m a traitor?” _

_ “Has this just been sitting on your chest?” _

_ “I just… Either way, I’m betraying someone, aren’t I? I deserted my country and I’ve deserted my culture. And my family. I’m a traitor to them both ways. I’ve done so many horrible things.” _

_ “It’s not just about sides, Lev. It’s more than Russian versus Japanese. It’s the right to live your way of life, the freedom to choose that for yourself. The right to speak our language and honor our ancestors, the right for a Russian to choose not to. Not being forced to be a traitor to yourself.” _

_ “A traitor to yourself?” _

_ “Yeah, like-” _

_ “I know what you mean. Being true. Being free. Being able to forgive yourself.” _

_ “You’re not a traitor.” _

_ “I’m trying not to be.” _

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't evident, Russian was in normal print, Japanese was in italics. Lev is still half Russian and half Japanese. His family pretended they were fully Russian when the war started and stopped speaking Japanese at home. Yaku's family was in a similar situation, where he had some Japanese roots that no one knew about.  
> If there's something confusing or more you want to know, don't hesitate to ask.
> 
> This was originally just an angst piece but it ended up evolving to a commentary on how language and culture can affect the way we interact and view each other. I don't speak any other languages, much to my shame, but to be able to talk to someone in their native language, I think, can make such a difference. Imagine what the world would be like, if we could all understand each other.


End file.
